Bab Bab 2 · A STATION WITHOUT A CAB

. A STATION WITHOUT A CAB

The arrangements for my meeting with Mr. Rassendyll had been carefully

made by correspondence before he left England. He was to be at the

Golden Lion Hotel at eleven o’clock on the night of the 15th of October.

I reckoned to arrive in the town between eight and nine on the same

evening, to proceed to another hotel, and, on pretence of taking a

stroll, slip out and call on him at the appointed hour. I should then

fulfil my commission, take his answer, and enjoy the rare pleasure of

a long talk with him. Early the next morning he would have left

Wintenberg, and I should be on my way back to Strelsau. I knew that he

would not fail to keep his appointment, and I was perfectly confident of

being able to carry out the programme punctually; I had, however, taken

the precaution of obtaining a week’s leave of absence, in case any

unforeseen accident should delay my return. Conscious of having done

all I could to guard against misunderstanding or mishap, I got into the

train in a tolerably peaceful frame of mind. The box was in my inner

pocket, the letter in a portemonnaie. I could feel them both with my

hand. I was not in uniform, but I took my revolver. Although I had no

reason to anticipate any difficulties, I did not forget that what I

carried must be protected at all hazards and all costs.

The weary night journey wore itself away. Bauer came to me in the

morning, performed his small services, repacked my hand-bag, procured

me some coffee, and left me. It was then about eight o’clock; we had

arrived at a station of some importance and were not to stop again till

mid-day. I saw Bauer enter the second-class compartment in which he

was traveling, and settled down in my own coupe. I think it was at this

moment that the thought of Rischenheim came again into my head, and I

found myself wondering why he clung to the hopeless idea of compassing

Rupert’s return and what business had taken him from Strelsau. But I

made little of the matter, and, drowsy from a broken night’s rest, soon

fell into a doze. I was alone in the carriage and could sleep without

fear or danger. I was awakened by our noontide halt. Here I saw Bauer

again. After taking a basin of soup, I went to the telegraph bureau to

send a message to my wife; the receipt of it would not merely set her

mind at ease, but would also ensure word of my safe progress reaching

the queen. As I entered the bureau I met Bauer coming out of it. He

seemed rather startled at our encounter, but told me readily enough

that he had been telegraphing for rooms at Wintenberg, a very needless

precaution, since there was no danger of the hotel being full. In fact

I was annoyed, as I especially wished to avoid calling attention to my

arrival. However, the mischief was done, and to rebuke my servant might

have aggravated it by setting his wits at work to find out my motive for

secrecy. So I said nothing, but passed by him with a nod. When the whole

circumstances came to light, I had reason to suppose that besides

his message to the inn-keeper, Bauer sent one of a character and to a

quarter unsuspected by me.

We stopped once again before reaching Wintenberg. I put my head out of

the window to look about me, and saw Bauer standing near the luggage

van. He ran to me eagerly, asking whether I required anything. I told

him “nothing”; but instead of going away, he began to talk to me.

Growing weary of him, I returned to my seat and waited impatiently for

the train to go on. There was a further delay of five minutes, and then

we started.

“Thank goodness!” I exclaimed, leaning back comfortably in my seat and

taking a cigar from my case.

But in a moment the cigar rolled unheeded on to the floor, as I sprang

eagerly to my feet and darted to the window. For just as we were

clearing the station, I saw being carried past the carriage, on the

shoulders of a porter, a bag which looked very much like mine. Bauer

had been in charge of my bag, and it had been put in the van under his

directions. It seemed unlikely that it should be taken out now by any

mistake. Yet the bag I saw was very like the bag I owned. But I was not

sure, and could have done nothing had I been sure. We were not to stop

again before Wintenberg, and, with my luggage or without it, I myself

must be in the town that evening.

We arrived punctual to our appointed time. I sat in the carriage a

moment or two, expecting Bauer to open the door and relieve me of my

small baggage. He did not come, so I got out. It seemed that I had few

fellow-passengers, and these were quickly disappearing on foot or in

carriages and carts that waited outside the station. I stood looking for

my servant and my luggage. The evening was mild; I was encumbered with

my hand-bag and a heavy fur coat. There were no signs either of Bauer or

of baggage. I stayed where I was for five or six minutes. The guard of

the train had disappeared, but presently I observed the station-master;

he seemed to be taking a last glance round the premises. Going up to him

I asked whether he had seen my servant; he could give me no news of

him. I had no luggage ticket, for mine had been in Bauer’s hands; but I

prevailed on him to allow me to look at the baggage which had arrived;

my property was not among it. The station-master was inclined, I think,

to be a little skeptical as to the existence both of bag and of

servant. His only suggestion was that the man must have been left behind

accidentally. I pointed out that in this case he would not have had

the bag with him, but that it would have come on in the train. The

station-master admitted the force of my argument; he shrugged his

shoulders and spread his hands out; he was evidently at the end of his

resources.

Now, for the first time and with sudden force, a doubt of Bauer’s

fidelity thrust itself into my mind. I remembered how little I knew of

the fellow and how great my charge was. Three rapid movements of my

hand assured me that letter, box, and revolver were in their respective

places. If Bauer had gone hunting in the bag, he had drawn a blank. The

station-master noticed nothing; he was stating at the dim gas lamp that

hung from the roof. I turned to him.

“Well, tell him when he comes--” I began.

“He won’t come to-night, now,” interrupted the stationmaster, none too

politely. “No other train arrives to-night.”

“Tell him when he does come to follow me at once to the Wintenbergerhof.

I’m going there immediately.” For time was short, and I did not wish to

keep Mr. Rassendyll waiting. Besides, in my new-born nervousness, I was

anxious to accomplish my errand as soon as might be. What had become

of Bauer? The thought returned, and now with it another, that seemed

to connect itself in some subtle way with my present position: why and

whither had the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim set out from Strelsau a day

before I started on my journey to Wintenberg?

“If he comes I’ll tell him,” said the station-master, and as he spoke he

looked round the yard.

There was not a cab to be seen! I knew that the station lay on the

extreme outskirts of the town, for I had passed through Wintenberg on

my wedding journey, nearly three years before. The trouble involved in

walking, and the further waste of time, put the cap on my irritation.

“Why don’t you have enough cabs?” I asked angrily.

“There are plenty generally, sir,” he answered more civilly, with an

apologetic air. “There would be to-night but for an accident.”

Another accident! This expedition of mine seemed doomed to be the sport

of chance.

“Just before your train arrived,” he continued, “a local came in. As

a rule, hardly anybody comes by it, but to-night a number of men--oh,

twenty or five-and-twenty, I should think--got out. I collected their

tickets myself, and they all came from the first station on the line.

Well, that’s not so strange, for there’s a good beer-garden there. But,

curiously enough, every one of them hired a separate cab and drove off,

laughing and shouting to one another as they went. That’s how it happens

that there were only one or two cabs left when your train came in, and

they were snapped up at once.”

Taken alone, this occurrence was nothing; but I asked myself whether the

conspiracy that had robbed me of my servant had deprived me of a vehicle

also.

“What sort of men were they?” I asked.

“All sorts of men, sir,” answered the station-master, “but most of them

were shabby-looking fellows. I wondered where some of them had got the

money for their ride.”

The vague feeling of uneasiness which had already attacked me grew

stronger. Although I fought against it, calling myself an old woman

and a coward, I must confess to an impulse which almost made me beg

the station-master’s company on my walk; but, besides being ashamed

to exhibit a timidity apparently groundless, I was reluctant to draw

attention to myself in any way. I would not for the world have it

supposed that I carried anything of value.

“Well, there’s no help for it,” said I, and, buttoning my heavy coat

about me, I took my hand-bag and stick in one hand, and asked my way

to the hotel. My misfortunes had broken down the station-master’s

indifference, and he directed me in a sympathetic tone.

“Straight along the road, sir,” said he, “between the poplars, for hard

on half a mile; then the houses begin, and your hotel is in the first

square you come to, on the right.”

I thanked him curtly (for I had not quite forgiven him his earlier

incivility), and started on my walk, weighed down by my big coat and

the handbag. When I left the lighted station yard I realized that the

evening had fallen very dark, and the shade of the tall lank trees

intensified the gloom. I could hardly see my way, and went timidly, with

frequent stumbles over the uneven stones of the road. The lamps were

dim, few, and widely separated; so far as company was concerned, I might

have been a thousand miles from an inhabited house. In spite of myself,

the thought of danger persistently assailed my mind. I began to review

every circumstance of my journey, twisting the trivial into some ominous

shape, magnifying the significance of everything which might justly

seem suspicious, studying in the light of my new apprehensions every

expression of Bauer’s face and every word that had fallen from his lips.

I could not persuade myself into security. I carried the queen’s letter,

and--well, I would have given much to have old Sapt or Rudolf Rassendyll

by my side.

Now, when a man suspects danger, let him not spend his time in asking

whether there be really danger or in upbraiding himself for timidity,

but let him face his cowardice, and act as though the danger were real.

If I had followed that rule and kept my eyes about me, scanning the

sides of the road and the ground in front of my feet, instead of losing

myself in a maze of reflection, I might have had time to avoid the trap,

or at least to get my hand to my revolver and make a fight for it; or,

indeed, in the last resort, to destroy what I carried before harm came

to it. But my mind was preoccupied, and the whole thing seemed to happen

in a minute. At the very moment that I had declared to myself the vanity

of my fears and determined to be resolute in banishing them, I heard

voices--a low, strained whispering; I saw two or three figures in the

shadow of the poplars by the wayside. An instant later, a dart was made

at me. While I could fly I would not fight; with a sudden forward plunge

I eluded the men who rushed at me, and started at a run towards the

lights of the town and the shapes of the houses, now distant about a

quarter of a mile. Perhaps I ran twenty yards, perhaps fifty; I do not

know. I heard the steps behind me, quick as my own. Then I fell headlong

on the road--tripped up! I understood. They had stretched a rope across

my path; as I fell a man bounded up from either side, and I found the

rope slack under my body. There I lay on my face; a man knelt on me,

others held either hand; my face was pressed into the mud of the road,

and I was like to have been stifled; my hand-bag had whizzed away from

me. Then a voice said:

“Turn him over.”

I knew the voice; it was a confirmation of the fears which I had lately

been at such pains to banish. It justified the forecast of Anton von

Strofzin, and explained the wager of the Count of Luzau-Rischenheim--for

it was Rischenheim’s voice.

They caught hold of me and began to turn me on my back. Here I saw a

chance, and with a great heave of my body I flung them from me. For a

short instant I was free; my impetuous attack seemed to have startled

the enemy; I gathered myself up on my knees. But my advantage was not to

last long. Another man, whom I had not seen, sprang suddenly on me like

a bullet from a catapult. His fierce onset overthrew me; I was stretched

on the ground again, on my back now, and my throat was clutched

viciously in strong fingers. At the same moment my arms were again

seized and pinned. The face of the man on my chest bent down towards

mine, and through the darkness I discerned the features of Rupert of

Hentzau. He was panting with the sudden exertion and the intense force

with which he held me, but he was smiling also; and when he saw by

my eyes that I knew him, he laughed softly in triumph. Then came

Rischenheim’s voice again.

“Where’s the bag he carried? It may be in the bag.”

“You fool, he’ll have it about him,” said Rupert, scornfully. “Hold him

fast while I search.”

On either side my hands were still pinned fast. Rupert’s left hand did

not leave my throat, but his free right hand began to dart about

me, feeling, probing, and rummaging. I lay quite helpless and in the

bitterness of great consternation. Rupert found my revolver, drew it out

with a gibe, and handed it to Rischenheim, who was now standing beside

him. Then he felt the box, he drew it out, his eyes sparkled. He set

his knee hard on my chest, so that I could scarcely breathe; then he

ventured to loose my throat, and tore the box open eagerly.

“Bring a light here,” he cried. Another ruffian came with a

dark-lantern, whose glow he turned on the box. Rupert opened it, and

when he saw what was inside, he laughed again, and stowed it away in his

pocket.

“Quick, quick!” urged Rischenheim. “We’ve got what we wanted, and

somebody may come at any moment.”

A brief hope comforted me. The loss of the box was a calamity, but I

would pardon fortune if only the letter escaped capture. Rupert might

have suspected that I carried some such token as the box, but he could

not know of the letter. Would he listen to Rischenheim? No. The Count of

Hentzau did things thoroughly.

“We may as well overhaul him a bit more,” said he, and resumed his

search. My hope vanished, for now he was bound to come upon the letter.

Another instant brought him to it. He snatched the pocketbook, and,

motioning impatiently to the man to hold the lantern nearer, he began to

examine the contents. I remember well the look of his face as the fierce

white light threw it up against the darkness in its clear pallor and

high-bred comeliness, with its curling lips and scornful eyes. He had

the letter now, and a gleam of joy danced in his eyes as he tore it

open. A hasty glance showed him what his prize was; then, coolly and

deliberately he settled himself to read, regarding neither Rischenheim’s

nervous hurry nor my desperate, angry glance that glared up at him. He

read leisurely, as though he had been in an armchair in his own house;

the lips smiled and curled as he read the last words that the queen had

written to her lover. He had indeed come on more than he thought.

Rischenheim laid a hand on his shoulder.

“Quick, Rupert, quick,” he urged again, in a voice full of agitation.

“Let me alone, man. I haven’t read anything so amusing for a long

while,” answered Rupert. Then he burst into a laugh, crying, “Look,

look!” and pointing to the foot of the last page of the letter. I was

mad with anger; my fury gave me new strength. In his enjoyment of what

he read Rupert had grown careless; his knee pressed more lightly on me,

and as he showed Rischenheim the passage in the letter that caused him

so much amusement he turned his head away for an instant. My chance

had come. With a sudden movement I displaced him, and with a desperate

wrench I freed my right hand. Darting it out, I snatched at the letter.

Rupert, alarmed for his treasure, sprang back and off me. I also sprang

up on my feet, hurling away the fellow who had gripped my other hand.

For a moment I stood facing Rupert; then I darted on him. He was too

quick for me; he dodged behind the man with the lantern and hurled the

fellow forward against me. The lantern fell on the ground.

“Give me your stick!” I heard Rupert say. “Where is it? That’s right!”

Then came Rischenheim’s voice again, imploring and timid:

“Rupert, you promised not to kill him.”

The only answer was a short, fierce laugh. I hurled away the man who had

been thrust into my arms and sprang forward. I saw Rupert of Hentzau;

his hand was raised above his head and held a stout club. I do not

know what followed; there came--all in a confused blur of instant

sequence--an oath from Rupert, a rush from me, a scuffle, as though some

one sought to hold him back; then he was on me; I felt a great thud on

my forehead, and I felt nothing more. Again I was on my back, with a

terrible pain in my head, and a dull, dreamy consciousness of a knot of

men standing over me, talking eagerly to one another.

I could not hear what they were saying; I had no great desire to hear. I

fancied, somehow, that they were talking about me; they looked at me and

moved their hands towards me now and again. I heard Rupert’s laugh, and

saw his club poised over me; then Rischenheim caught him by the wrist. I

know now that Rischenheim was reminding his cousin that he had promised

not to kill me, that Rupert’s oath did not weigh a straw in the scales,

but that he was held back only by a doubt whether I alive or my dead

body would be more inconvenient to dispose of. Yet then I did not

understand, but lay there listless. And presently the talking forms

seemed to cease their talking; they grew blurred and dim, running into

one another, and all mingling together to form one great shapeless

creature that seemed to murmur and gibber over me, some such monster

as a man sees in his dreams. I hated to see it, and closed my eyes; its

murmurings and gibberings haunted my ears for awhile, making me restless

and unhappy; then they died away. Their going made me happy; I sighed in

contentment; and everything became as though it were not.

Yet I had one more vision, breaking suddenly across my unconsciousness.

A bold, rich voice rang out, “By God, I will!”

“No, no,” cried another. Then, “What’s that?” There was a rush of feet,

the cries of men who met in anger or excitement, the crack of a shot and

of another quickly following, oaths, and scuffling. Then came the sound

of feet flying. I could not make it out; I grew weary with the puzzle of

it. Would they not be quiet? Quiet was what I wanted. At last they grew

quiet; I closed my eyes again. The pain was less now; they were quiet; I

could sleep.

When a man looks back on the past, reviewing in his mind the chances

Fortune has given and the calls she has made, he always torments himself

by thinking that he could have done other and better than in fact he

did. Even now I lie awake at night sometimes, making clever plans by

which I could have thwarted Rupert’s schemes. In these musings I am very

acute; Anton von Strofzin’s idle talk furnishes me with many a clue,

and I draw inferences sure and swift as a detective in the story books.

Bauer is my tool, I am not his. I lay Rischenheim by the heels, send

Rupert howling off with a ball in his arm, and carry my precious burden

in triumph to Mr. Rassendyll. By the time I have played the whole game I

am indeed proud of myself. Yet in truth--in daylight truth--I fear that,

unless Heaven sent me a fresh set of brains, I should be caught in much

the same way again. Though not by that fellow Bauer, I swear! Well,

there it was. They had made a fool of me. I lay on the road with a

bloody head, and Rupert of Hentzau had the queen’s letter.